Lord Walter's Wife
I
'But
where
do
you
go?'
said
the
lady,
while
both
sat
under
the
yew,
And
her
eyes
were
alive
in
their
depth,
as
the
kraken
beneath
the
sea-blue.
II
'Because
I
fear
you,'
he
answered;—'because
you
are
far
too
fair,
And
able
to
strangle
my
soul
in
a
mesh
of
your
golfd-coloured
hair.'
III
'Oh
that,'
she
said,
'is
no
reason!
Such
knots
are
quickly
undone,
And
too
much
beauty,
I
reckon,
is
nothing
but
too
much
sun.'
IV
'Yet
farewell
so,'
he
answered;
—'the
sunstroke's
fatal
at
times.
I
value
your
husband,
Lord
Walter,
whose
gallop
rings
still
from
the
limes.
V
'Oh
that,'
she
said,
'is
no
reason.
You
smell
a
rose
through
a
fence:
If
two
should
smell
it
what
matter?
who
grumbles,
and
where's
the
pretense?
VI
'But
I,'
he
replied,
'have
promised
another,
when
love
was
free,
To
love
her
alone,
alone,
who
alone
from
afar
loves
me.'
VII
'Why,
that,'
she
said,
'is
no
reason.
Love's
always
free
I
am
told.
Will
you
vow
to
be
safe
from
the
headache
on
Tuesday,
and
think
it
will
hold?
VIII
'But
you,'
he
replied,
'have
a
daughter,
a
young
child,
who
was
laid
In
your
lap
to
be
pure;
so
I
leave
you:
the
angels
would
make
me
afraid."
IX
'Oh
that,'
she
said,
'is
no
reason.
The
angels
keep
out
of
the
way;
And
Dora,
the
child,
observes
nothing,
although
you
should
please
me
and
stay.'
X
At
which
he
rose
up
in
his
anger,—'Why
now,
you
no
longer
are
fair!
Why,
now,
you
no
longer
are
fatal,
but
ugly
and
hateful,
I
swear.'
XI
At
which
she
laughed
out
in
her
scorn:
'These
men!
Oh
these
men
overnice,
Who
are
shocked
if
a
colour
not
virtuous
is
frankly
put
on
by
a
vice.'
XII
Her
eyes
blazed
upon
him—'And
you!
You
bring
us
your
vices
so
near
That
we
smell
them!
You
think
in
our
presence
a
thought
'twould
defame
us
to
hear!
XIII
'What
reason
had
you,
and
what
right,—I
appel
to
your
soul
from
my
life,—
To
find
me
so
fair
as
a
woman?
Why,
sir,
I
am
pure,
and
a
wife.
XIV
'Is
the
day-star
too
fair
up
above
you?
It
burns
you
not.
Dare
you
imply
I
brushed
you
more
close
than
the
star
does,
when
Walter
had
set
me
as
high?
XV
'If
a
man
finds
a
woman
too
fair,
he
means
simply
adapted
too
much
To
use
unlawful
and
fatal.
The
praise!
—shall
I
thank
you
for
such?
XVI
'Too
fair?—not
unless
you
misuse
us!
and
surely
if,
once
in
a
while,
You
attain
to
it,
straightaway
you
call
us
no
longer
too
fair,
but
too
vile.
XVII
'A
moment,—I
pray
your
attention!—I
have
a
poor
word
in
my
head
I
must
utter,
though
womanly
custom
would
set
it
down
better
unsaid.
XVIII
'You
grew,
sir,
pale
to
impertinence,
once
when
I
showed
you
a
ring.
You
kissed
my
fan
when
I
dropped
it.
No
matter!
I've
broken
the
thing.
XIX
'You
did
me
the
honour,
perhaps,
to
be
moved
at
my
side
now
and
then
In
the
senses—a
vice,
I
have
heard,
which
is
common
to
beasts
and
some
men.
XX
'Love's
a
virtue
for
heroes!—as
white
as
the
snow
on
high
hills,
And
immortal
as
every
great
soul
is
that
struggles,
endures,
and
fulfils.
XXI
'I
love
my
Walter
profoundly,—you,
Maude,
though
you
faltered
a
week,
For
the
sake
of
.
.
.
what
is
it—an
eyebrow?
or,
less
still,
a
mole
on
the
cheek?
XXII
'And
since,
when
all's
said,
you're
too
noble
to
stoop
to
the
frivolous
cant
About
crimes
irresistable,
virtues
that
swindle,
betray
and
supplant.
XXIII
'I
determined
to
prove
to
yourself
that,
whate'er
you
might
dream
or
avow
By
illusion,
you
wanted
precisely
no
more
of
me
than
you
have
now.
XXIV
'There!
Look
me
full
in
the
face!—in
the
face.
Understand,
if
you
can,
That
the
eyes
of
such
women
as
I
am
are
clean
as
the
palm
of
a
man.
XXV
'Drop
his
hand,
you
insult
him.
Avoid
us
for
fear
we
should
cost
you
a
scar—
You
take
us
for
harlots,
I
tell
you,
and
not
for
the
women
we
are.
XXVI
'You
wronged
me:
but
then
I
considered
.
.
.
there's
Walter!
And
so
at
the
end
I
vowed
that
he
should
not
be
mulcted,
by
me,
in
the
hand
of
a
friend.
XXVII
'Have
I
hurt
you
indeed?
We
are
quits
then.
Nay,
friend
of
my
Walter,
be
mine!
Come,
Dora,
my
darling,
my
angel,
and
help
me
to
ask
him
to
dine.'
